Champagne High
by Karateprincess67
Summary: My first story! I found the song "Champagne High" by Sister Hazel and I absolutely loved it. I found a bit of a parallel between the message of the song and Mac and Stella's relationship now that Aubrey is in the picture. Hope you enjoy it!


"Champagne High"

The apartment is dark and silent. I've turned all the lights off and I sit on my window sill. I can make out the chairs and television in my living room and my furniture in my bedroom. But maybe it's just because my eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness. Or maybe it's because of the bright, eerie green glow my alarm clock is giving off. The green numbers make the glass of wine in my hand take on a fluorescent green hue. I lift my arm to take a sip of the wine and shift slightly on the wooden sill. I look out my window and gaze at the city late at night. The time doesn't seem to affect the activity level of the city and I wonder oddly if the street is noisy because I can't even hear myself breathe.

I like to sip wine at my window when I can't fall asleep or something is bothering me. Like after my very first case, or after Frankie, or Drew, Aiden's and Jess's murders, or the professor. And as much as I hate to admit it, I've found myself here quite a few times during Mac's relationship with Peyton. The worst time was when he announced his ten day trip to London with her. I wouldn't really be surprised if he knew of my tradition when things start to go downhill. Actually, he's been there most times I've done it. No one else knows though. Now, I wish someone else knew and understood so maybe I wouldn't have to sit here all alone with my wine, wishing I could get all of Manhattan to turn off their lights for a minute just so I can see the stars.

I take another sip of wine and shift so I can check the time. I curse inwardly. It's well past midnight and I know I should be sleeping, especially with such an early shift tomorrow. Make that today.

But my eyes pass unseeingly over my bed and resume their gaze out the window. My mind shifts to Mac and my fingers clutch my glass tighter. I have a feeling that I know where he is, even at this hour. And I'm almost sure he's not alone. Ever since the "beautiful brunette in the green coat" caught his attention in that deli, they can't seem to spend enough time together. I don't even know her but I already hate Aubrey Hunter. She's everything I know I'm not; everything that intrigues Mac.

My fingers grip the glass dangerously and for a moment I'm concerned the glass will break. Although I'm not sure that I care, I place the glass on the window sill close to my knee after I take a particularly drawn-out sip.

I scowl out the window and wonder where my relationship with Mac is going. It seemed that our friendship was on its last legs during the Diakos case; we couldn't stop arguing for a minute to listen to each other. But then, he followed me to Greece. He helped me discover the truth about the professor, he found my mother, and he told me he cared about me. The night after the Professor's death, he let me sit on his hotel room balcony, crying my eyes out for all the betrayal and loss, and he stroked my hair and held my hand. I didn't go back to my hotel room for the rest of the trip and he understood why without asking. On the plane ride home, I fell asleep with my head on his chest and his arm set tightly around my shoulders.

After that, I was sure our friendship was back on an even keel.

We got each other through Jess's murder and Danny's stint in the wheelchair. I even got him to sit on the window sill with me a few nights after the shooting. We both had glasses of wine and we sat fingers interlocked and knees touching as we spent all night watching the city in pained, yet peaceful silence.

He saved me from getting impaled on that hideous flying bed of knives in that penthouse and his hand found mine often while we rearranged the furniture in the study there. His touch was gentle, curious, and strong. We spent Christmas and New Years' together and he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek while we watched the team play Santa's little helpers at the Children's Benefit downtown.

There's so much evidence in favor of us and he said he would try with Aubrey.

Mac.

I've contemplated wearing a green coat to work one of these days but I'm sure he won't notice because a minute after he sees me, Miss Number 39 will walk in to meet him wearing that stupid coat and a dazzling smile. I'll watch him smile in return. It'll be a genuine smile, one that lights up his eyes and makes him look years younger. He's smiled at me like that before, but not anymore.

My heart gives a painful twist and I drink more of my wine.

Our friendship has returned to its pre-Greece stagnancy. No more late night phone conversations, three hour trips to Starbucks on our shared days off, movies, hugs, or hand-holding window ponderings. No more Mac and Stella as more than just friends and colleagues. Just individual Mac and individual Stella.

I look at my hand in the darkness and for a moment, I imagine Mac is there with me, his calloused fingers through mine and our knees resting against each other. I want it to be real so much that I can actually feel him there on the window sill with me, his grip soft and gentle, his movement to pick up his wine glass deft and graceful. I look up expecting to see his grey-blue eyes watching me. And then all I see is an empty space on the window sill.

Now the tears start as I realize he's probably doing what I just imagined with Aubrey. There's another harsh stab in the middle of my heart and I viciously shove a hand through my hair and swat at the tears on my face. Of course I want Mac to be happy. I would give anything to see him happy. But I hate that he has to be happy with Aubrey. I was so sure that everything would work out the way I wanted that I just waited for it to happen. And look where that's gotten me.

Good God, why does my life sound like the plotline for a low-budget, tear-jerker romance movie?

It's ridiculous.

Honestly.

Mac...

I look out the window with blurred vision and sigh heavily. It's not right for me to hate Aubrey. She's obviously pretty, smart, and understanding, seeing as how Mac likes her so much. Really, I have no reason to hate her or dislike her or have any opinion about her for that matter. I don't know her so I can't judge her. The only thing I could fault her for is getting- and keeping- Mac's attention. And I suppose I can't fault her for that at all.

I sigh again from the strange weight of my epiphany and my eyes wander over to my bed again. I decide it would be smart to get some sleep; it's going on three in the morning now. I down the last of my wine and a pleasant buzz begins to fill my head. I set the glass on the sill and walk over to my bed. I climb in and think how helpful it would be to be content with what I have. I'm the one who creates all this misery for myself and doubt I'm hurting anyone other than myself by doing it. If I could just stop expecting and believing so much, maybe I could be happy, even if I have to watch Mac and Aubrey together.

Mac and I will be friends until we get tired of each other, which I'm confident won't ever happen considering how much we've experienced together. If I can't have Mac, I won't settle for being his friend. I'll be content with it. That thought comforts me in a way. Even though a part of me will always love him, a bigger part of me will be happy seeing him happy.

God knows he deserves it.

And maybe someday I can be happy too.

With that thought, my eyes close slowly as I feel myself sink back into my mattress and sheets. The wine-induced high relaxes me enough to fall into a dreamless sleep with a slight feeling of anticipation and hope for my future as well as his.

It's 3:30 in the morning and my eyes close before I can see my phone light up with an incoming call. I'll see in the morning that my one missed call at 3:30 in the morning is from Mac Taylor.


End file.
